Mistress
by Val-Creative
Summary: No one would know their story. Pieces, the time fragments, scraps of inevitability coming and connecting to form their lives, creating the link between them. Years would move along, their anecdote, their memories, their legacy, disappearing, forgotten.
1. Prologue

_Multichaptered. StarRobRae. AU. Dedicated to all my supporters and favorite TT readers (you know **who** you are)._

_Disclaimer: Don't own Teen Titans. Don't rub it in._

* * *

_Prologue_

Someone put a gun to his head. Someone give him one, just to cradle, just to feel the cold ridged object in his blood crusted and flaking hands. Something real to give him comfort.

Give him a shock.

On the long silver examination tables, their bodies lay out flaccid and pale, decently so to cover up the damage. They waited unresponsively to be zipped into the white oversized bags and stored into those dark hiding spaces, the ones where the outside mimicked the appearance of file cabinets. How many people could mistake them for cabinets only to receive the sickening end of a bad joke? Or a bad…_accident_…….

The sweating man quietly stood beside them.

His left hand, the one with the gold impressed ring winking in the overhead fluorescent lighting, held her hand away from her marble breast, a hand that neglected him.

A hand that belonged to _someone else_.

Without his knowledge— long before he wandered himself unpredictably in her life— it belonged to that someone else. Along with the rest of her body.

Instead of his hand clenching his own cold indifferent fingers furiously, Wallace West dropped her left remorselessly. It was not in his nature to hate, to become that kind of man who would seek revenge. He was always reasonably passive, it was his downfall, yes, perhaps that's why she liked him so much.

Someone to boss around. Someone who would undeniably love her for all she was, her façade anyway, and dote upon her when she required such senseless doting.

The woman who came in earlier— the one who sobbed her poor fanciful heart out— making him outwardly cringe at the hatred of it, she must have been plenty horrified at the sight of their corpses.

If he hadn't known better, she might have been sobbing at the fact that they were lying _together_.

The police told him, when he inquired of course, that she was the fellow's ex. Ran off to some distant country many months ago with another woman. That little piece of info interested him but he wouldn't go prying into this nameless woman's life, her dramas— again it was meekness and maybe some courtesy at work. He only waited in line for her to sign her papers and leave in a melancholy whirl of cotton red dress-material.

Maybe she didn't feel comfortable in morgues, his later thoughts pressed, not that Wallace could blame her. They weren't exactly the residences of tranquility and pleasant dreams.

Should he be sad? Did he cry?

Not just yet. Shock and doubt wasn't finished with him. Sure, after all, it was a terrible way to die, terrible to watch….truck came out of nowhere…….

No one would know their story. He didn't even know how all this, all the pieces in time, the fragments, the scraps of inevitability coming and connecting to form their lives, creating the link between them. Years would move along, their anecdote, their memories, their legacy, disappearing, forgotten.

Their secrets…would stay secrets.

* * *

_**TBC...**_


	2. Chapter One

**_….._**

**_….. _**

**_….. _**

Nasty weather.

Storms usually came around August, the scaredy-cats at the weather center belted out the tornado sirens every so often with premonitory warnings (annoyingly). None of the storms were ever considered tornado-worthy, up to her standards at least, but nevertheless they grew at times violent and destructive to the frail rooftops.

Unlike the other fretful residents in the suburbia of Jameston, Terra Markov extracted meditative exhilaration from the white lightning in the backdrop of deep purple, absently counted the nickel-sized hail coming down in streams, sat in the candlelight during power outages soothingly listening to the music Mother Nature created, the _pitter_ of the rain against her bedroom window. Storms never frightened her; nothing these days could rattle her cages, anger or fear.

She turned up in this little town out of New York from the urban side of the Queens, a city-girl wishing to escape the reek of unemployment and losers. One loser in particular— her ex-boyfriend to be exact, short for his age but handsome with his wild green eyes, wanted to leave her for bigger dreams and bigger opportunities. The blonde bombshell packed her things in their high-rise the next morning, leaving the bland goodbye note on her side of the pillow (_gosh_...when his blonde bangs fell over his eyes when he slept...she was reminded of how gorgeous he was) and never looked back. It was a mutual breakup between them, of that she knew, but the sting of resentment didn't quite fade away with time. Not as much as she cared for anyway.

Storms reminded her of running away from home at fourteen, never again to return, getting caught in the downpour, falling down in the gutter and kicking off her squishy hot-pink sandals when she stubbed her big toe. Of her first night without electricity in her independently paid room, reading a sappy romance novel by the light of the half-blinded moon. Of standing on her rickety balcony outside the apartment she shared with _him_, of his thinly muscled arms tightly dissolving her into a state of numbed contentment as he joked about dying his _beautiful, blonde_ hair an atrocious minty green color (a part of her always will hate him for that)— that kind of passion could not be found anywhere else.

Even now, she believed in the end he loved her, in conduct no one else could ever know— a side of himself kept stored away for special use. Those tender gestures he consciously presumed, his eagerness to please her. It had not been about erotica, there was something bigger in the act of them being alone, one curled up to the other, and whispering about minuscule aspects of their lives.

Bigger. Secretive, snaking his forearm around her shoulders to cradle the side of her face with a gentle hand and her name murmured warmly into her ear canal. Her real name, not an alias. Not a shadow pretending to have qualities.

Not like in Jameston.

The young woman shook off remnants of long-forgotten yesterdays, fixing a band to hold back her waist-length hair from burning and eyed the low-lit red dot on the device she held in her right hand as she ironed the last of her collar shirts.

Her fan lights flickered forebodingly as did the light on her iron; Terra addressed the thunder rumbling patiently under her breath, "Don't even think about it."

As if someone above had heard her threat, the power remained constant. But a crack of lightning sounded bolting right above her head, causing the poor woman to jump and nearly drop the steaming-hot appliance on her free hand.

"_Jeez christ_…..!"

Disquietly, the half-naked woman heard someone bang on her knocker only moments after. Almost at a leisurely pace.

Raising an manicured blonde eyebrow to why anyone would be outside her door in the middle of an intense storm such as this one, she flipped off the iron, setting it sideways and grabbing the nearest blouse to slip over her voluptuous bra before going to answer her front door.

Soaking wet on her welcome mat, a small dark cloaked figure.

Terra ignored her paranoid urges to call neighborhood watch on suspicious characters— she would not succumb to that suburbian-stereotype— and asked hesitantly, keeping her door half closed, "Can I….help you?"

The figure stepped forward brashly, (the blonde groped behind for the umbrella rack just in case) and ripped open the strange V-shaped hood to reveal a smooth pale face. Dampened strings of jet black hanging around bizarrely cold-looking eyes of a dark purplish color.

At the sight of them, Terra released a thankful sigh.

"Oh, it's only you."

She allowed her neighbor entrance into her home, "You know your getup isn't exactly the smartest thing to be walking around— " Her peach-lipsticked mouth dutifully snapped shut upon observing the other woman as the darker-haired hung up her cloak on a hallway hook and shivered dripping on her rug.

"Alright, um, don't move. I'll get you a change of clothes."

Quickly, Terra hunted around to bring back a pair of gray sweats and a flimsy pink college sweatshirt, never noticing the nose-wrinkling upon taking in the sight of the sickeningly vivid color. After changing, both women wandered out into the ranch-style family room where the blonde presented her mute neighbor with a cup of hot watery tea, "I'm out of cocoa and coffee. I'm really sorry. Will this do?"

"Nicely, thank you," came a harsh croak.

Terra sipped on her own colorfully plastic cup, clearing her throat and cracking her knuckles unthinkingly before divulging into the subject, "So….uh, any specific reason why you wandered on over here?"

The following silence promptly put the bigmouth on edge, giving the effect that being abrupt in this situation was disrespectful of her; her neck blushed shamefully.

"I don't have anyone to talk to."

Terra smiled cheerfully despite the sobriety of her tone, glad that the conversation was given an initiative. She unlaced her fingers and waved them around a bit to emphasize her cheeriness, "Well, since we are neighboring buddies…your little boy is adorable by the way."

The other woman's expression softened, revealing a subtle glimpse of a knowing smirk. A grateful one at that. Terra was put into further comfort at its presence. She knew nothing about her or about her family, other that they moved in two months ago and were a well-off family by the looks of their expensive Jaguar. Supposedly married to that funny redheaded pediatrician, overall, this woman gave an airs of being the introverted type.

"It's a hell of a long story," her neighbor explained rasping, by the sounds of it it was naturally so, eyes motionless to the floor and arms folded unsettled with shoulders tense.

Terra found herself nodding understandingly, having a feeling that this night would indeed be one to remember, and leaned back on her favorite recliner. The frustratingly long list of her chores that had once preoccupied her worries drained dry from her memory similar in the manner of the boiling water draining progressively from her cup, allowing the heat burning in her esophagus to sink before replying, "I've got all night."

**_….. _**

**_….. _**

**_….. _**

Nasty indigestion.

She had no idea what brought it on.

Perhaps it was a lack of nutrition…she hadn't eaten all day…..maybe story-telling did this to her. The utter will of trying to keep history from surfacing ultimately failing.

She didn't know these people. She didn't care about this place or them. She ran from her history, the memories, and her mistakes to become someone else, allowed to be ignored and live the rest of her life an unnamed shadow among many. But for some reason— she knew that this particular shadow (_Markov_) had a firmer perspective on running than anyone in this township. And _that's_ what compelled her to arrive on her doorstep drenched from her walk along the avenue.

Did people from the city have some kind of weird psychic connection with other people from the city?

Against her character, she had spilled her guts to this skinny yellow-haired nobody, history exchanged itself between them in awkward verbalizations. Then afterwards in the guest bathroom, perspiring and overheated, she vomited. Her concerned neighbor sent her home, assuring her that she could clean up the mess later while probably thinking to herself that she didn't want to catch her 'cold'.

Not sick. At least, not contagious.

_'Get to know me and I might be.' _

With a slightly painful groan as another convulsion seized her stomach walls, the silhouette shrouded in darkness crept past the unfasten door to the master bedroom. She plainly disregarded the reverberation, the noisy snores of her spouse— _if you even call him that_— and shutting the nursery door down the hall once she entered.

Speckles of rain droplets sparkled lifelessly on the windowpane across from the toddler's crib; light green wallpaper almost blue in the lack of brightness. Faint tiptoes across the overly sized room; she carefully stuck her hand through the wide cylindrical bars, shyly skimming a stubby fingernail over a tiny peaceful rosy cheek.

_This_...swelling of devastating love brought a tingling of tears behind unpretentiously calculating eyes and she sniffed them back fiercely. How could she love a creature, how was she capable to a creature born of self-loathing and malicious deception, so powerfully and completely?

For all he stood for…taking the embodiment of innocence.

Payback was a bitch. **IS.**

Why the fuck was she doing this to herself? The answer to her problems were simple, ignore the bastard and it will all go away. Don't allow your heart to open. From the beginning it didn't do any good for her. Focus on your _husband_ and your son and ignore the rest of the world.

(You don't miss him, you don't miss his laugh, don't miss his smiling blue eyes when you clearly see them in Rider's, or the way he made you feel _deliriously helpless _when he pinned you underneath him before he took you)

_'Weakness…..he gave you this poison……to end your reign….he made you **FEEL**…..'_

"I am a better person because of it." She mumbled this sincerity with her forehead pressed into a bar, falling to her knees beside the crib.

_'You lie to the very foundations of your soul, love….his poison lives in you because you allow it…….two years and he won't let you go and you're allowing….' _

Her face contorted painfully, the side of her hand groping for the stability of the crib bara. Lips etched open in a grimace-scream, she whimpered, "_Please……just stop…_"

_'You love him you sanctimonious whore, you demon…' _

Her mouth angrily mock trembled; she battled for a gasp of air, "Yes…"

_'Then take what's yours.' _

* * *

**_TBC..._**


	3. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans or the New York Times.

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**_….._**

_Taste what you've been missing…that delightful agony that swims through your naked veins…leave what you knew behind…_

_**…..**_

**Flashback Begins.**

"The owner of the shop said it was from the Cayman Islands," she had exclaimed brightly, almost as bright as the sunshine from outside the car window blinding everything with understated radiance, seeping in and illuminating her shiny combed hair.

From the little white box she had hidden in her neat little designer purse, nestled in matching white cotton, laid a golden coin cut out in the middle to shape an unnamed bird perched on a tree branch. The bird itself coated with a silvery pearly glossing. His girlfriend beamed when he asked, nodding her head vigorously in her overexcitement, "The mineral is also from the Cayman Islands too."

It was a thoughtful gift for his twenty-third birthday. Kory obviously knew a lot about him if she knew what his coworkers had nicknamed him. Despite his downright abhor of the name.

Or it might have been a coincidence.

He was sticking with the former.

She liked beautiful things, he knew that much, and wore it on a necklace to make her happy. Her gesture had been appreciated, even guiltily when he failed to remember hers in August, and had securely brought her into a inviting embrace in hopes to erase the remorse with the combination of her sweet perfume and delightful body heat.

They could afford nice things, _very_ nice things, since they both worked in a blossoming business. She worked hard doing what she loved, one of the fortunate persons in the business world, and with just enough time to play housewife while he hardly worked in a multimillion multinational cooperation he was training to run for his Father's sake. Sometimes he felt like he was just there to '_be pretty_' so to speak. At times he became touchy when someone referred him as _spoiled _but it wouldn't be the first time someone accused him as such.

Most nights the couple wasn't home.

When they could spend time with each other— it was either trips to the countryside out of New York, there they housed together in a luxurious penthouse apartment. They would park one of those old-fashion 20's cars on top of a hilled road in some abandoned area to lie down in the spacious backseat, feeding each other spring strawberries, or playing in Central Park (the one time she convinced him to play along, pretending to be lost lovers reuniting in one of the most public places in the city. The best reaction they got was a random stunned reporter wanting to post their 'touching' story in The New York Times).

_Right_, he laughed to his girl later, _like she really knew the New York Times._

It was simply common knowledge, an unspoken truth, that they were the perfect couple. So based on appearances— if there was something lurking underneath the exterior, it never showed overtly. At company balls, at company parties, they were voted best-looking couple "_King and Queen of the Night_".

'Richard Greyson' and 'Kory Anders' belonged together. And now, their title would reign as 'Mr. and Mrs. Greyson'.

Oh, the wedding was publicized all over the Eastern seaboard, hundreds knew, hundreds wanted to witness this famous union. Luckily the bride thought up of the idea of assembling special invitations so no one they didn't want there could sneak their way into and ruin the glorious event. The reporters and photographers would be barred, assured hired security.

In spite on this glamour and importance, what kind of people were they really?

For one Richard was a man with strong morals. Meaning he never wished for anything. He held a firm belief that wishing didn't get the job done.

**_Action_** did.

Dreaming for the attainable was worthless, a waste of energies. He had everything he wanted anyway, what more could he ask for than good friends, steady pay, and a gorgeous fiancée to come home to…whenever he could.(_..?_)

He didn't know anything outside of it and Richard was completely content with that.

Or so he thought.

Ever since he was a kid, there was something in his nature that was drawn to mystery. His childhood ambition had been to become the greatest detective there ever lived. Solving riddles and puzzles challenged him, and he liked challenges. Very much.

Kory couldn't exactly feed that, she couldn't stomp out that desire either. In truth, maybe he wasn't ready to commit. He loved her, yes, he was positive of his feelings for two years now, love was a word however. A _feeling_ of attraction. Love was simple with her.

But in all honesty….who wanted simple?

_**…..**_

_Devil in an indigo dress, her kisses full of peccadillo…every drop a sting…_

_**…..**_

Somewhere on the other side of the world, fashioned with same elegance of worldly knowledge, she was there, downing a Black Russian made especially for her at the bar. Her next victim remained unawares of her objectives.

Blood-red lips slowly lifted at the corners as the cocktail glass brushed fondly between the two pillows of soft flesh.

With a _swish _of silky burgundy, she rose to her feet. The impression of her grace hypnotized the younger attractive men at the table over, their lovely black eyes roaming over her glitzy corset. Because she moved, her victim's companions attentions were swayed to her side of the room as well, she caught the glance of sparkling brown naivety, clandestinely exciting her cravings before the barman's gruff accent beckoned her.

"_Sabine….there is a call for you_."

With an elusive sigh, she whispered dully through her ritzy smile, "_It can wait Gregory_."

"_It is a woman……she sounds urgent_."

Thickly she swore in her native tongue, and crossed the bar-stand to brusquely seize the cord phone from his smooth pink hands. Blowing a long dyed strand out of her eye, she asked cordially in English, "Hello?"

He watched out of the corner of his eye as the other young men did occasionally, to see her tightened expression relax faintly. She lowered her voice to a murmur into the mouthpiece so no one else could hear her; seldom did her muffled voice rise to release a husky chuckle of amusement. After almost ten minutes, she let the receiver drop into the wall cradle. The dinner jacket barman questioned pryingly, "_Who did you talk to_?"

The silent woman swallowed the rest of her cocktail on the counter, chewing mutely on a small piece of ice on her way through the richly decorated exit. He cried out through the blue-tinged cigar smoke, "_Sabine_!"

She replied sweetly with her bare back to him, "_I will call from America my friend_."

* * *

**_TBC..._**


	4. Chapter Three

**_….._**

**_..._**

**_..._**

_Who wants simple……_

Unconnected train of thoughts racing through the tracks of his mental space,

_…who_

diving,

_needs….._

dodging,

_..it_—

A roar of elevator pulleys jerked to a stop and a blaring of emergency distress signals going off right outside the cramped compartment woke him from his daydream. As he blinked the last spots of haze from his sight, someone shouted in a very pissed off manner.

"THIS IS THE _FIFTH _TIME THIS WEEK MAN!"

The person at fault snapped, albeit guilt-ridden, "I didn't do it on purpose this time! I just bumped it, I swear!"

Behind the shorter man with fashionably cropped blonde hair, the red button that read **PUSH IN CASE OF EMERGENCY** visibly looked smashed into the elevator wall.

With a little eye roll, Richard Greyson shoved his infuriated best friend aside (difficult task since the man with all 200 something pounds of muscles), and his flushing one (scrawny, too easy) to the other side to flick the tiny orange switch underneath the massive button up and roughly yanked the emergency button back into place. Within moments the elevator took a long sluggish groan before ascending up to the next floor with ease.

"There, problem solved," he shook his head, "No need to shed blood over it."

The taller man pointed to the shorter, eyes narrowed with a forewarning that promised much cruelty at a later point. The other man with ferocious green eyes sized him up, staring right back with a pure look of venom.

Seconds ticked by, in that time the young heir had went ahead with his decision to aggravatedly thump the back of his skull repeatedly into the paneling. His piercing blue eyes peeked up at the security cameras. He could bet everything he owned that someone, _someone _down on the lower levels was spying on the whole event, dying of suffocation from an inanimate object (most likely a cafeteria bagel) being lodged in their throats after laughing so hard.

_"Boo-yah, you blinked!"_

_**…..**_

**_..._**

**_..._**

No matter how outrageous or stupid those loons could get, he still trusted them with his life.

Richard knew those two since they were teenagers, and since then they had been thick as thieves. Victor Stone, his football buddy in their high school years, also middle class and a hard worker. He had no issues with money status. Vic had a tendency to watch his back, a big brother so to speak, and eventually he grew to accept it. Garfield joined their group later on, turning their fascination onto the world of video-gaming. He had a reputation of 'clowning-it-up' and it made their group of friends even more satisfying. After the teenage years passed on, after the petty disagreements, no three guys could be more of an elite. It was because they were his best friends that they worked in such a big operation like Wayne Towers.

That, and Victor knew electronics like no one's business, and Garfield surprisingly had the gift of smooth talking around company sharks; sadly the same couldn't be said for the situations with the ladies.

As the infamous trio turned in from work for the afternoon, on their way past the customer service desk, the 200 something pound man in the clean-cut black striped suit stopped dead in his footsteps to sharply glance left almost predatorily at a bypassing shapely figure. Victor grinned devilishly.

"Hey Karen."

The smartly-dressed employee purposely avoided eye contact with him, lip unconsciously twitching with displeasure before a soft smile swerved into Richard's direction, her easy voice lowering amiably, "Hey Rich."

He smirked, "What's going on Karen," and inwardly chuckled when Victor flipped him off behind her back. The woman never seemed to notice the hostility.

"I'm having a party next week, gettin' a few close friends together…wanna come?"

Richard's smirk weakened into a genuine apologetic frown, "Actually, I've got some wedding plans. Sorry Kar."

She winked coyly, "I forgot, no longer the bachelor of the year….too bad for us single gals, eh?" Karen one-arm shrugged and nudged the jut of her hip against his nonchalantly, making her way off to the opposite end of the building before anything else could be brought up.

Victor glared, "I hate you man."

The young heir only snorted, bringing his attention back from momentarily taking in the sight of his feminine coworker, his smirk returning a bit wider. Garfield exclaimed through the rotating doors, immediately after whistling high-pitched for a taxi, "Dude, Richard hikes up his pants and girls drool. He's a friggin chick _magnet_. I can't go anywhere without you messing up my game," he scoffed at Rich, "What's your secret?"

"I don't start a conversation with '_Are those puppies playful_'?"

Their friend cracked up, collapsing into hysterics as quickly as he collapsed into the tacky leather backseat of the vehicle. A deep red lingered across his cheekbones, scowling as Gar plopped down next to his uproarious friend, "Once, man, once and you won't let it die. Convict me why don'cha?"

Richard remarked, slamming the bright yellow door closed for him, "I'll consider that offer." Victor sat up from his hysterics and knocked aside the agitated man to protest, "Yo, aren't you coming with us?"

"I can walk, it's not that far. I'll see you at Bruce's party Monday," he saw them off as the cab sped away without another moment hesitation, just knowing that somewhere inside that Vic was arguing with the cabbie.

The tails of his trench coat sharply drifted up from a gust of wind.

And so began his unhurried stroll to the penthouse.

Not that he didn't want to come home. Home was where the happiness laid, right? Home didn't ask you to do pointless tasks that didn't challenge your capabilities. Home didn't harass you with phone numbers, didn't include slinky ladies willing to give it up for the night, didn't ask anything out of you. Home.

He felt his facial muscles die of the usual cheerful veneer, hinting a newer more solemn expression he hadn't felt in a long time. A life of pleasure frequently kept his mind from meandering off into lonely.

Thoughtlessly, Richard grabbed a fistful of black hair before hustling his strides.

City drivers got on his nerves, now that he considered it deeper, his and Vic's. That was one of the things they could agree on over time. As the dark-haired man wandered by, he eyed the four people at the crosswalk nearby. A little boy in a private academy uniform with blue stripe shorts and a red button-on tie, he held onto what looked to be his grandmother's hand with a little wrinkle set on the center of his forehead. A business man to their left with tortoise-rimmed glasses, rubbing his nose viciously into a tan-colored handkerchief. And to his left, a shapeless reddish-purple hoodie.

His eyes floated serendipitously over the baggy form at the end of the human line, traveling downward to worn grayish brown combat boots enclosed over slender calves. Didn't see those around this side of town anymore.

Why couldn't Victor join him? The walk wasn't that far at all, why pay twenty bucks or more for a half a mile trip…the fare raising with every traffic delay…it was a _city_! For just an alternation of the norm, he wondered what it would be like to live in suburbia……

His windpipe clenched in anticipation. Something didn't feel right.

That person in the hoodie……too close to the edge of pavement…..sounds too sharp to place……cries for assistance……glinting bumper.

He saw it happen; his nerves filtered the premonition of a pricey Cadillac breaking the speed limit haplessly for the street corner, the driver running a sheer film of lipstick over her mouth in the rearview mirror for five seconds. _Five seconds_ led to the hooded individual turning away from staring intently at the streetlight, the **NO WALK** sign supposedly signaling it to proceed across the busy intersection unoccupied.

Falling short of safety, of the white line. Waiting purposely. For. a. Collision.

Richard smacked a hand around a waistline in mid-sprint, thrusting that person onto the asphalt, cushioning the shock for the other body by enveloping it into his arms and landing out flat on his back, legs straight up in the air to spare them as the expensive automobile flew by without mercy. Screams echoed off the sidewalk, probably out of fright for the unmoving two still lying in the road.

His head swam; his lungs just began to register a command, to operate from the fall, sucking in a tight inhale before noticing the considerable amount of warmth cradled in one arm. His outstretched arm he drew to his chest and slowly, Richard sat up, blinking out the black threatening to overcome him.

He couldn't believe he just did that. Ran out into a street. Saved a life.

Did she want to be saved?

At first Richard had no idea why he thought this stranger was of the female populace before suddenly realizing the molding of the fleece material on the other person's physique was…definitely of the curvy category and a soft stray strand of blue poking out through the face of the—

Wait….what the hell…_blue_?

This strange female had rolled away from his grip on all fours, head bowed, and palms flat to the gravel. Voices drawing closer. Before they could become clearer— or be interrupted by them, he questioned uncertainly, "Miss, are you alright?"

In response, sleek black gloved fingers curled inward. Engagingly thin. Scraping. Fists thumped into the gravel.

"Miss…?"

Before he could repeat the question or move to help her...citygoers bustled, jogging and stumbling over with cameras and shocked faces, various going on with their business, crowding, distracting him. _One second_ _to look away_ led to her disappearance.

The back of a rounded hood teased him far off in the throng. He had all intentions of chasing her down when a yellow flash went off, cutting the vision of her path from his awareness and Richard ducked into the mob of useless standbys, using his skills of vanishing to escape without a single snooping glance. He scanned the crowd, the blinding sunshine reflecting off car tops causing his eyes to squint momentarily.

Long gone.

_'…..you're welcome, I guess.'_

**_….._**

**_..._**

**_..._**

Chipped pink fingernails dug into the starchy white dough confidently, a jaunty tune whistled out of the corner of a pleasurable bow mouth.

Bow mouth sounded so old fashion. Pouting seemed more realistic. She was always pouting about something. She pouted when they kissed, pouted when offended, pouted when she wanted something and couldn't get it. Expressing her need, whatever need she needed…..._fulfilled_, didn't have to be spoken. Her body language said it all, her undemanding eyes, her…mouth.

At the same time battling his libido and the frequent pains in his lower back, Richard snuck in from the apartment hallway into the entrance without arousing suspicion. He had purposely ignored the door bellboy and several aghast residents upon entering the majestic building.

Good smells.

Home smells.

A lilac-hued apron fitted around her tennis-lean body, her too tiny hips losing their distinct contour within the jumbo fold of the fabric. He was a sucker for the finer details of a woman's body. Not being able to resist, his fervent arms wound around what was to be _his _soon enough and roughly pulled her hips back into his. She flinched up a moment before relaxing into his snug embrace. A shrewd smile too quick to catch, her following cheery exclamation never gave away the emotion.

"Your hands are so cold Richard! Have you been outside?"

Kory pointedly tucked a loose ringlet of auburn behind her ear and turned to the side so that her face leveled his and could have better access when his lips met hers chastely. He ignored the question, "What smells so good in here?"

"Chicken," her cheeks flushed slightly with pride.

"You cooked?"

"Yes," her perfectly-plucked eyebrow hovered upwards as she drawled out with her cute accent, one he still hadn't figured where she might have aquired it, "Why do you sound surprised?"

"That's funny…I didn't smell smoke…"

She ducked out of his grip to brandish a large wood object threateningly, "I should hit you with this spoon." He imitated a slight impression of a hurt child.

"But then you would mar my beautiful face."

"I wouldn't be aiming for your head." Richard laughed loudly at her sad attempt at looking dangerous with her spoon, when he stretched his arms over his head, her freshly salon-tanned face dropped heavily with apprehension, "My _goddess_, you're bleeding! Richard!"

Streaks of dirt were prominent on this morning's clean gray slacks along with a dark bruise of scarlet drying on his right calf. Kory knelt down to press a wet washcloth into his pant leg and he attempted to expel it, "No, no, I'm alright—I just—"

**Bring! Briiing! **

Richard pulled himself away to pick up the line, issuing a mental breath of thanks to whoever was calling, "Hello, Richard Grayson."

_"Where are you Dick?" _

Exchanging a placid look with his still-kneeling and confused fiancée, Richard turned his back and bear down his mouth closer to the voice piece, "Bruce? What is it?"

_"Where are you? The party started without you." _

"Party? Wha…" He scrunched up his face in frustration after a moment, "_Fuck_. Bruce, I'm sorry, I completely forgot about the birthday party. I-I'll be there. I swear." Richard hung up to glance at Kory, an vacant mask fell over her previous upset expression , "I'm sorry babe, I promised."

"He is family. You should go." He didn't look convinced, especially now that she deliberately was keeping the vacant mask set firmly in place. So she encouraged, pushing her body against his frame sensually, giving him a lying pretty smile, "I have plans. Enjoy yourself."

Richard squeezed her waist once and touched their mouthes briefly, shouting on his way out of the closet to retreive another jacket, "I promise I'll make this up to you. We're still on for Monday for the wedding planner!"

She told an empty flat, her bow mouth curling, "...sure…"

* * *

**_TBC..._**


	5. Chapter Four

**_….._**

**_..._**

**_..._**

Something had to be done about this situation.

As the other line to the phone went dead, the shapely figure hidden in the laundry room perching with her bottom to the lid of the dryer hung onto her slim pink cell phone a little while longer. She worried, worried for her family alone in the outskirts of safe European cities. Some men out there were of the vicious type— sadists and rapists in nicely pressed suits. Years have passed since Kory had lived in her country...but gossip remained.

Mentally pressing out anymore negative thoughts stirring in her mind's contents about her previous homeland, she tried another number.

**_….._**

**_..._**

**_..._**

Something had to be done about _this_ situation.

He hated masquerades. He hated costumes. Halloween was on the top of his list to abolish once Richard Greyson ruled the damn world, seeing how he was conveniently within the lineage of Wayne….wasn't he correct in thinking he could pretty much make anything happen...?

Nightfall came swift upon the far end of Gotham; the ocean view from the craggy cliff where the prestigious Wayne Manor rooted proudly swallowed the rest of the scenery with black waters shimmering beneath velvet moon white. Just for a split second he was glad to let his senses devour the splendor.

The butler, to his absolute relief, was not donned in a ridiculous outfit and secretly, it seemed that the feeling was mutual as the graying man showed him in through the front entrance. Alfred was his favorite for a reason. As Richard handed him his motor keys for the evening— he sure as _hell_ was getting wasted tonight— brown eyes wrinkled around the edges as he addressed the younger man, "Would there be a chance that you would like change before meeting Master Bruce?"

"Wait wh—?" A dried spot of blood on the pant leg over his calf seemed darker in color under the chandelier lights. "—oh. Whatever. It doesn't matter."

The butler made a disapproving noise before stepping aside. Light blue eyes scanned the crowds of bedazzling and ghastly guests before pinning down on his blood— _**no**_, not correct— _money _relation (thankfully not in costume) conversing with surely one of the more _well-rounded_ company attending. A glimpse of a topaz dress and of large framing dark curls was all he saw before being blocked by someone else approaching with one of those 'pasted-on' smiles.

"Excuse me _Diana_(1)," he grunted at her before she could open her mouth, leaving her to stare after obviously offended by his lack of concern and decorum as he retreated without so much as a friendly glance.

By the time Richard had pushed himself through the multitude (which was _in his way_), earning himself plenty of irritation and obscenities from others less important, he discovered Bruce alone leaning the banister of the grand staircase; champagne in his left hand. The older man smiled calmly at his confusion, "Lost?"

"Funny, Bruce, I didn't think you had a sense of humor."

"Difficult to imagine one existed, isn't it? Who are you looking for exactly?" Coal black eyes held a mild stare-down with him. Richard exhaled loudly, raising a hand to scratch his scalp and taking another long look at the ballroom, "I'm….not sure."

The owner of Wayne Enterprises finished up his glass with a large swallow and nodded. "Do you want Alfred to get you some _Madeira_? You look like you need something to drink."

"I saw you with a woman, she was young and I felt…_**huh**_?"

Just as Alfred passed by on cue, Bruce snatched up an expensive bottle, pouring a hefty amount of tawny color wine into a second crystal goblet and held it out to him. "This should do it." Richard accepted the drink numbly and gave him a strange look before nursing his cup between his palms.

"Yes, you did indeed see me with a _young woman_. I met her coming in from Moscow, or so she said she hailed from. We started talking about the shipping problem from Columbia she knew almost extensively and I invited her to stay at the Manor." He poured his own glass with a satisfied smirk before placing the uncorked bottle on a small clothed table nearby. "She is quite beautiful. Get a good look at her and you'll see. There might be life in this fifty-something year old body yet."

His son made a pained face, muttering before choking down another mouthful of alcohol, "Dad, I don't need to know about your sex life."

Bruce made something of a boisterous laugh before holding up his drink. "To humor."

"To…" Richard hiccupped slightly, coughing it out embarrassed before adding lowly, "whatever, happy birthday."

_**…..**_

**_….. _**

**_..._**

This _sucked_.

He was suppose to be _plastered_…out of his mind _gone..._and yet his thoughts were frustratingly clear to him! Even though his actions had gained a more ridiculously arrogant swagger and speech came out slower and deeper then standard— Richard felt as if he were still aware of his surroundings...ish. _Sober up to a point_ fitted the phrase quite smoothly.

Somewhere on his way upstairs in the semi-dark hallway, Richard tripped before catching himself over the top of the second floor grand staircase. Through his glazed vision and one or two ceiling lights, he stared at a dark haired guest clutching the doorknob to a closed room and the other holding a wine glass. At first she stared back with a caught expression before slowly starting to smirk in relief, not letting go of the door.

"Had a little too much there?"

Richard squinted a moment confused before recognizing the bright shade of her green eyes beneath the heavy makeup. "Selin—?"

Holding up the flute-shaped glass to her face and leveling a lavender gloved index finger to her red lips, she said with a slight wink, "Irena Dubrovna(2), remember?"

"How the _hell _have you been?" He didn't like that he sounded so astonished and quickly shook his head, deciding when it was too late that it had been a _terrible mistake_ as the blue eyed man threw his back against the wall, waiting for the spinning to stop. He turned his head towards her figure wearing a simple long sleeved black dress with a satin wrap as she loosened her grip on the antique brass knob. "You grew out your hair..."

"The boy cut was getting old. You look..." She paused a moment, watching as he heavily panted against the wall, struggling to keep himself flat up against it, "_wasted_...that's something new."

"I _wish _I felt wasted." Richard mourned for a moment. "Bruce is gonna be—" His mouth snapped shut on words badly interpreted such as _excited _or _happy_. "—surprised to see you here at his birthday party."

"This is not about him."

"But it _is_ about the party right? It's a good opportunity for things not to be taken for granted in a public setting to go mysteriously missing overnight. Of course the rational thought is that it was left at home or lost on the way to the Mercedes-Benz." Gaining his balance, Richard sneered openly at her but not without amusement as one of her feminine black eyebrows quirked. "But it's not like the wealthy couldn't replace a 20K diamond bracelet the next day."

Her grin reminded him very much of a cat who swallowed a tasty canary. "Your mother must have been proud to have such an astute son."

"I'm sure if she was alive she'd have appreciated the comment." He shifted on his feet, smile lessening, "Speaking of kids, how is the little one doing? Got a good babysitter tonight as you go play professional thief?"

The green eyed woman tapped one of her blood red fingernails against the rim of her wineglass, replying monotonously, "She's with a better mother then I would ever be for her."

"Still not willing to give Bruce a chance?"

"I'm not the type to settle down. Never have been."

"Well then I guess you wouldn't care about Bruce's latest love interest. He met her in Moscow recently." Richard took another small sip of his golden alcohol. She flushed an angry red that couldn't have worked as fast on her blood vessels as the effect of the wine might have done.

"I really don't give a shit." She batted his sympathetic hand from her upper arm defensively.

"Listen, we both know that you love my old man..."

'Irena' shouldered the young man aside rudely, not caring if he could feel the precious weight of her wrap pinned on the inside with 'things not to take for granted'. "Bite me, _junior_."

As she made her way towards the staircase, he yelled at her retreating back, "You do know that the combination on the lock to the upstairs vault was rearranged, right?"

_'...she hasn't changed at all. Bruce, you idiot."_

After a minute or two of checking whether or not the room had been broken into— _as well as thoroughly raided_— the slightly drunken man wiped the sweat from his brow and gladly closed his eyes as a breeze from the third floor hit his warmed features.

Slipping the first two buttons of his dark blue collar shirt open and stumbling a bit where the third floor opened into an large balcony-like opening with a railing, he hazily stared at a few stray guests drinking quietly and leaning against the marble-and-steel balustrade. Directly across from him, one of his coworkers grinned lazily off to the side at Richard, giving him a thumbs up quickly before continuing to look at the lovely dark-haired woman leaning on the banister next to him on the right.

"So, sweetheart, I haven't seen you in this side of town before..."

The woman in the golden salsa dress adjusted the weight of her hips, leaning away from him, obviously not interested in the flirting. Richard's glazed eyes fell over how low the scoop back cut to nearly her tailbone. Her head turned— Richard saw a solemn expression from a heart-shaped white face with heavily lined eyes in black makeup. Her full lips caked with purplish black lipstick.

"I have just arrived for some business..._and pleasantries_..." The young red-haired man grinned wider at the last bit she had spoken.

"Then allow me the honor of showing you around. I know the best hot spots." It wasn't a lie. Roy Harper— _ladies man extraordinaire_ this side of New York— had the most expensive nightclubs in town asking for him every weekend. A muscle in the woman's jaw clenched up as she smiled politely.

"I appreciate the rescue earlier this evening..._but _I am staying with the owner at this estate. I do not think he would be pleased with me if I ran off with another strange handsome man." Roy preened at the half-hearted compliment, running a hand through his short hair.

"Ahaha..." He grabbed her by the arm, pulling her close to him as she frowned suddenly, "_Come on babydoll, you don't have to be so shy_..."

The blue eyed man glanced down at his glass of alcohol before drinking the rest, kissing his chances at sobriety goodbye.

"_There_ you are...Na-natasha!" Richard stumbled a little over to them, plastering on a convincingly stupid grin as he raised his empty wine glass. "Bruce has been looking for you everywhere! You should...go see him! Yeah. He's downstairs!" The red-haired man stared at him a bit sullen as the woman glanced at the blue eyed drunkard with a mixture of disbelief and skepticism. She nodded slowly at Richard before faking an apologetic smile to the other man.

Out of the corner of her lips, she hissed lowly, "_Take my arm..._" Complying silently, he smiled too at Roy before leading her out, hooking his arm around hers.

They walked out into the hallway and into the staircase where Bruce's new guest ripped her long arm from his, hurrying out the front door.

"_Hey- **wait**_!"

Alone on the concrete porch, she spun around in mid run and stared hard at him panting, her violet-blue colored eyes narrowing. "Does Bruce Wayne really need to see me or did you just want an excuse to get me away from him?"

Trying to blink the newly formed hazy edges out of his vision, he pointed at her shakily, "…is that your real…eye color or is it contacts?"

The golden figure in front of him shimmered for a moment before clearing. Her heart-shaped face pulled into a cynical smile. "You _really _are loaded, aren't you? I guess then I don't have to worry about you copping a feel. You don't seem like the type."

"Is that what you were talking…with Roy about?"

She crossed her bare pale arms, a dark thin elegant eyebrow raising as he wavered a bit on his flat feet. "A friend of yours? Well, the horny old men are nothing new."

"Sounds like you led an exciting life." The woman continued to stare at him with a reserved expression— it seemed to fit her— before saying, "That's not my name by the way."

"Huh?"

"You called me Natasha." Violet-blue slit to a fat colored contour against her black eyeliner, as he found himself shaded by the darkness of the maple trees near the porch, pressed against her with his back brushing the outside wall, his hands roaming gently across the skin of her back. "That's not my name."

"Then what is your name?"

"_Raven_." She let out a hot breath, burying her hands into the front of his shirt and clenching her fingers tighter into the expensive silk material. "_What's yours_?"

His hands found her hair as her lips touched the angle of his throat— he felt the line of the dark curly wig with plastic gold accents and for a delirious moment wished to know the _real color_, the _real texture _of her hair.

"_Robin_."

**_….._**

**_..._**

**_..._**

_**TBC...**  
_

* * *

_(1) First name of Wonder Woman. Justice League reference._

_(2) Alias of Selina Kyle (Catwoman) from comic "One Year Later". Also all mentions of her daughter is from the same comic._

_See bio for any new updates. Thank you **Sylv **for being so patient (GOMENGOMENGOMEN) as well as **evilsangel **(I missed talking to you) while my lazy ass worked on this! Updated just in time for **C2's 20th birthday**! HAPPY SURPRISE PRESENT CAKE-DEAR!! I LOVE YOU!  
_


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